A Beast Of A Burden
by SirPeterWolfsBane
Summary: (ModernAU) Peter is in college and in exchange for his tuition, his mother is forcing him to see a therapist about his "delusions". Edmund was smart enough to never speak of it in public, Susan denied it, and Lucy has kept to herself to survive. Peter is the only one who openly admits he remembers Narnia, but how long before he can't any more? Peter/Susan.
1. Chapter 1

He hated waiting in that office. It smelled of industrial sized air freshener, some flowery-citrusy scent that made his stomach turn. There was always moder jazz playing, grinding at his nerves and the magazines were all women's or parenting ones. He tossed one aside after one look. "50 New Sex Moves That He'll Love!"  
Please. As if a magazine could really know.  
"Peter. Doctor Merrit will see you now," the receptionist said, blushing a bit as they made eye contact. She was pretty and young, maybe 3 years his senior at most. He had no interest in her, but he always made sure to compliment her blouse or something when he came in. Then she tended to give him preference in his appointments.  
He walked back and into the office, closing the door behind him and sitting in the leather arm chair he always sat in. The same armchair he had sat in for the past 5 years.  
"Ah, Pete. Good to see you," Dr. Merrit said, turning in his computer chair, "I suppose your mother finally convinced you to come back. How long has it been, 2 months?"  
"Of course she convinced me. It's this or she stops paying for my schooling," he responded. Dr. Merrit wrote, god how he hated the writing.  
"I see," Dr. Merrit said easily, "Now tell me, Pete. Have you been dreaming of Narnia still?"  
"My name is Peter," he replied through gritted teeth, "And no. I can't dream when you have me on this damn medication."  
"That's good, Peter," he said, his fingers steepling beneath his chin, "This is progress. The dreams have stopped with the aid of the medication. Your mother also said you only had one outburst when you were home for the holidays. She said that Lucy seemed to have triggered it?"  
"My mother calls it an outburst when I defend my little sister's sanity," he said coldly. Dr, Merrit pulled off his glasses, rubbing his eyes.  
"She said that you had tried speaking to her of this "Narnia" in private," he said, "And that when Lucy denied it, you verbally attacked your mother."  
"Lucy denied it because she's afraid of being in trouble!" he spat, "She doesn't want to be like me, the pariah. Edmund is the smartest out of all of us. As soon as Mum started saying about shrinks and doctors, he never spoke of it again."  
"Because he realized how unhealthy it was. Peter, you're a twenty three year old man who believes in a magic land in a wardrobe ruled by a talking lion. That is not psychologically healthy."  
Peter folded his hands in his lap, sullenly silent. He didn't want to talk about it anymore.  
"Your mother called with some concern about another situation," Dr. Merrit said, looking over his notes, "She said that you and your sister seem to have some odd tension between the two of you."  
"Me and Lucy get along very well," he replied curtly.  
"Not with Lucy, with Susan."  
"I don't want to talk about Susan."  
"Fine," Merrit said, holding up his hands in surrender, "Your mother says that you got to church quite a lot. She said you go to every service they offer- adding up to five days a week?"  
"I feel closer to Aslan there," he said quietly.  
"Aslan?"  
"The talking lion," he sneered, "The one who doesn't exist."  
"Have you ever considered that Aslan is your way of coping with the lack of a father figure in your life?" Merrit asked, "I mean, your stepfather has never been consistent; between his service and his teaching and not having your birth father around; it's natural to cling to an all seeing father figure. You chose this lion you call Aslan. Most people choose to cling to God."  
"How do you know Aslan isn't God?" he demanded, "Oh wait, that's right. Me and my siblings just happened to have a shared hallucination."  
"No, you and Lucy share similar features in your delusions. Susan and Edmund have never showed signs of the same affliction."  
"Susan can't remember. It hurts her because she knows she isn't allowed to go back," he replied, "And Edmund remembers. Like I said- he's just smart enough to never say anything unless he's sure no one is listening."  
"Why isn't Susan allowed back in Narnia, Peter?" he asked, looking deeply interested.  
"Neither of us are. Aslan said that we both learned what we had to learn there," he replied, his voice low, "And then I heard Aslan in my sleep. She's no longer a friend to Narnia."  
"Why isn't she a friend to Narnia?"  
"I don't know," he snapped, "Maybe because she's so interested in her make-up and idiot boys and parties."  
"Because she's a sinner?"  
"I never said that," he said, glaring at him.  
"So sinners aren't allowed in Narnia," he said, "Tell me, Peter. Are you a sinner? Why is it that only you and Susan have been "banished"?"  
"I don't want to talk about it," he repeated. Dr. Merrit sighed, looking up at the clock and back to him, "Well, our time is up for today. How does next week sound, same time?" he asked, holding out a card. Peter took it, snorting. "It's been a jolly good time, Doc."


	2. Chapter 2

He punched in the familiar number to the house, hoping that Lucy would answer. Since she had a particular hard "episode" (as the doctor called them) about two years ago, their mother had taken her out of her boarding school. He was glad of that in some ways, the girls at her school had been tremendously cruel to his dreamer sister. She was so eager to return to Narnia, and she had once more with Edmund and their cousin Eustace. Eustace was stuffed into a boarding school the first time he ever even mentioned the adventure he went on with Edmund and Lucy. It was bad enough that Alberta wasn't precisely thrilled to have them around and rather disliked them; but it was another entirely for her to hear and see her son change after they visited. She was furious. She hadn't spoken to the family for a little over a year- the only correspondence they recieved was a note stating that Eustace was attending a boarding school and that he had permission to visit. Actually it was much more strongly worded, but he'd rather not think of that. It was as if the very word "Narnia" turned adults into madmen.

His own mother had lost her mind when the Narnia talk continued. She had sent them all back to boarding school without a second thought; and only the girls went home for Christmas that year. Soon, a pattern developed. The girls got Christmas, The boys had Fall break. Easter holidays, usually Peter was the only one who didn't go home; and in the summer they were all scattered to the winds. It was as if his mother couldn't stand to have them all together at once.  
"Come on Lu," he muttered, "Pick up." He knew that if she didn't, it was more likely than not that he wouldn't be able to speak to her. Their mother was getting a little too good at this game. Only if Lucy picked up would he get to talk to her.  
He had no such luck though, his mother answering.

"Peter," she said, her calm thinly veiling her fear, "How lovely to hear from you darling. How was your appointment?"  
"Fine Mother. I was hoping I could talk to Lucy," he said, his teeth gritted. He didn't know what his mother was afraid of. Sure, he'd yelled in her face a few times... but she shouldn't have said the things she said. She shouldn't have told Susan, "I feel like I'm living in a nut house between Lucy and Peter." That was when she sent him off to the professor's home when he was not in school. That was when their stepfather announced that he was divorcing his mother. That was when Lucy stopped talking about Narnia unless she was sure she was alone. She was afraid her mother would send her away like she sent away Peter. Like she secretly believed she sent away their father.  
"Oh, darling I would but she's been feeling a bit off the past few days," Helen tittered, her voice airy. It was a strange noise, the way her voice sounded. It made Peter's stomach turn.  
"Mum, who's that?" he heard Lucy's voice in the background. He knew his mother kept the volume up quite high and that Lucy would be able to hear him.  
"It's me, Lu," he said loudly. He heard Lucy's excited squeal of joy as she butted her mother away from the phone.  
"Peter! You haven't called in ages," she said, the hurt apparent in her voice. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.  
"But I have Lu…Mum keeps intercepting the calls with excuses that you're out or sick or sleeping."  
"She doesn't want my "fragile disposition" upset," she said, "But Edmund is coming home for the weekend- I know he'll take me out, he usually does. Will you meet us at the cafe on the corner?" she asked, sounding excited.  
"Of course, Lu," he said, tenderness seeping into his words, "You know how much I miss you."  
"I miss you too," she whispered as their mother's steps approached, "I love you."  
And then she was gone, replaced by her mother's falsely cheery disposition, "Well, there. You talked to her and it looks like it was quite nice. Now, we have to go dear but don't be a stranger, feel free to call anytime."  
"Yeah," he said quietly, "I hear the honesty in your voice Mum. I'll talk to you later."

He hung up the phone, glaring at nothing in particular.


	3. Chapter 3

He was there just when Edmund had said, and he caught Lucy's eye right away. Her face lit up and she was waving, bouncing in her seat happily. He looked at Edmund who looked notably upset; and when he looked to Edmund's left; he knew why.  
Susan was sitting there, perfectly made up and poised. He hated her. He loved her. He hated how he loved her, how she had hurt him; how she had hurt all of them. He sighed, realizing that there was no use in trying to act like he didn't love her anymore. He did. More than anyone should ever love someone. Gathering his courage, he walked over to the table. He was tackled by Lucy, smothering him with kisses and hugs and 'I miss yous'. He grinned, wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting her up in a tight hug before setting her in her seat. She's so light, he thought sadly. He and Ed shared a smile and a handshake as he sat, an uncomfortable silence settling. Susan didn't speak, she didn't even glance at him. Her eyes were rivited on the menu, her eyes scanning the list over and over. Peter could see easily she wasn't actually reading, she wasn't actually doing anything but looking at it from top to bottom and seeing nothing.  
"Susan…aren't you going to say hello?" Lucy chirped, looking euphoric. Susan didn't look up, she didn't blink.  
"Peter," she said, her voice cold and clipped.  
"Su," he said gently. How long had it been? Months, really. He wondered if she was still with that boy he'd spent a night in jail with- the one he'd beaten to a bloody pulp for daring to slap his sister. He wondered if she still drank a little too much and slept a little too little and smoked the way he did. He could see the way the corner of lipstick was smudged just a bit, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and wipe it away. She must've had tea at home beforre she came, that's usually how her lipstick smudged that way. Lucy launched into a story of how she had gone to the cinema and saw a fantastic movie and on and on until she simply ran out of things to say. Her voice fluttered and fluctuated, as if she was constantly fighting tears and Peter reached out and took her hand, stroking the back gently.

Edmund finally spoke up, cutting through all the small talk.

"How bad is the new medication?" he asked. He knew he had lost weight; it was noticeable in his face more than anywhere. Edmund stared him down, his expression sharp and demanding. _Don't lie to me,_ his eyes spoke, _Don't you dare lie to me._  
"I feel like a fucking guinea pig," he said quietly, "I don't even dream anymore." Edmund frowned deeply at this, shaking his head. He knew Edmund knew how he felt; when they first put him on medication claiming he was hyperactive, he couldn't do a damn thing that wasn't some sort of schoolwork or reading. He couldn't even watch tv really, he'd just sit and stare; so intensely focused. Edmund hated it, and luckily they decided he wasn't actually hyperactive; he was just angry. Peter was glad that Ed had enough sense to pretend that Narnia didn't exist in front of the adults. He didn't think his brother could take what was happening to him. Hell, he didn't want him to have to.  
"Why don't you just lie to them?" Edmund demanded, "That's what I did and they haven't done more than put me in therapy for my "anger" issues. Once you get there, they generally are more than happy to slap a stamp of cured on you and send you on your way," he said disgustedly. He knew that the way he looked now bothered Edmund deeply. He had always seen his brother as some sort of giant; a knight who could just keep taking blow after blow and still be firm and surefooted. He gave him an apologetic look, and Edmund looked away, glaring at a crack in the floor.  
"It's okay Peter," Lucy said, patting his hand, "Aslan would forgive you for lying."

It was at that, Susan exploded.  
"See, this is precisely why Mum asked me to come along," she said sharply, "She knew this would happen. She knew this would come up!"  
"Susan," Edmund said, his tone warning. Peter was taken aback, it was just a few short years ago that he had used the same tone on Edmund. He looked at his brother again, amazed at how he'd grown. He wasn't as thin anymore, he was taller. His face had matured, still sweet and rather pretty, but his features became more angular. His voice was deeper, it carried more authority. He held himself as a man would, he spoke like a man would. He was proud of his brother. Susan glared at Edmund before turning to Peter, pushing a perfectly manicured finger in his chest.  
"This is you fault!" she hissed, but she lost the venom after shoving her finger in his chest. Her eyes went panicked, and she let out a small gasp.  
"Peter, how much weight have you lost?" she asked. Her resisted the urge to laugh in her face cruelly, to hurt her the way she had hurt him.  
"Since when?" he asked, "Since I last saw you? That was about…what, 4 months ago? About 40 pounds." She looked startled, her mouth snapping shut as Edmund and Lucy lectured him. He smiled at them shaking his head, how could they understand. Of course they could- but he didn't want to remind them. Let them fuss a bit- it was better than keeping them in the dark, as usual.

Eventually, it was time for Ed and Lu to go home, and with tearful hugs, even from edmund, he and Lucy departed hand in hand. He turned to Susan, who was still standing there, looking as though she were fit to cry.  
"Peter…" she began, biting her lip, "Why don't we go back to my place?" she asked, "We…we need to talk."


	4. Chapter 4

They walked, their arms linked in the slow London twilight. They didn't speak, they didn't even truly look at each other; but it was clear to anyone near them that there was something loving about the way their arms were linked. The way she kept stealing glances at the tall man on her arm. The way his eyes shifted ever so slightly, admiring her beauty. He missed her. He missed the way she felt next to him, the way she always smelt of roses and lavender. The way her lips always tasted as if she had just eaten a sweet before kissing him.

Susan's hands were shaking by the time she was at her door, the keys in her hand missing the lock at least four times. He heard her curse under her breath, almost too quiet to hear. But he had spent his life hearing all the things Susan said too softly for the others to hear, and she couldn't hide from him.

A moment later, his hand was over hers, sliding the key in the door easily. His touch was different now. His has were always warm, soft...but now they were cold and calloused. She closed her eyes, biting her lip. _What has the world done to you, Peter Pevensie?_  
She walked in, hanging her coat and his, shocked at the way his sweater hung from him like a bag. Peter had always been a healthy man, on the muscular side due to his adoration of sports. But in the past year, something had changed in him. She ran her hand over his back, wincing at the feeling of his spine beneath the threadbare jumper. He hand felt so good, such and innocent gesture warming him up like a cup of tea after a day in the cold rain. He let out a chest rattling sigh, his shoulders sinking so hard he swore he heard his back crack.

"Peter," she said softly, taking his hand as she pulled him into the sitting room, "Are you dying?"  
He blinked, a bit surprised. Was he dying? His friend Cornelius had asked that very question when they had met up for a few beers a week or so back. He aske if had cancer, that he was wasting away. Peter had dismissed it, thinking his friend was being overdramatic for effect.  
"No," he said, his shock and amusement clear, "That would make yours and Mum's life too easy." He regretted the statement as soon as it had come out of his mouth, seeing the hurt in her eyes. She reached out and landed a resounding slap on his cheek, her eyes filled with tears.  
"It's not funny!" she cried, "Peter, you look like your dying. Like...you have cancer. What's happened to you?" she demanded. He shrugged carelessly, his cheek red. How could he explain to his perfect sister what it was like to be so broken that his own mother wanted nothing to do with him? How could he explain what it was like, being told he was crazy by everyone, including her. How did he tell her you began to believe the whispers after so long?

"I'm mad, Susan," he said softly, "They have me on chemicals that no person should put in their body. I have no appetite, I have no desire to do anything I used to. All because I won't let go of Narnia." He touched her face gently, his thumb stroking her cheek, "He's calling me, Su. He wants me to come to his land."  
Susan leapt out of her chair, staring at him.  
"My god," she whispered, her hands flying to her mouth, "You're going to kill yourself, aren't you? That will not get you back to him!" she cried, "And what about us? What about Ed and Lucy! What about me!"

What about Susan? Most of his life had centered around that. His first day to kindergarten, he looked at his mother, concern in his eyes. "

_What about Susan?" he demanded. _  
_"Susan will be fine with me, Peter. Now go, or you'll be late!" she scolded gently, pushing him out the door._

His first year at boarding school, it was the same.

_"What about Susan?" he demanded, tears in his eyes, "Who's going to take care of Susan?" _  
_"She's going to the girl's boarding school just across the way!" Helen said, exasperated, "Really Peter, your sister will be fine."_

He stood as well, pulling her gently into his arms.  
"It's alright," he said, "I'm okay. Me and Lucy talked about it not so long ago. She said her and Edmund would be fine."  
"I won't be," Susan cried, "Peter, I-"

He silenced her with his lips, kissing her chastely. He had only wanted to comfort her, to keep her from saying something she couldn't handle admitting right then. But feeling her lips again, it ignited something in him. In both of them. They parted, and suddenly his hands wer holding her face tightly as she gripped his forearms, their tongues battling and their breathing heavy and loud; and there was a loud shatter behind them and Peter could swear it was real, not just in his head.

"Susan!"

They parted, and Susan stared at her mother wide-eyed.

Oh god, no.

Helen ran over, grabbing her arm tightly and dragging her away from him. He couldn't move, he couldn't even breath. He could see how he looked; the mad older brother who had just forced himself onto his defenseless sister, how the fear in his mother's eyes burned tiny holes in his heart.  
"I should have known!" she exclaimed, "This is what Susan has tried to tell me all these years, that you've been..." she hissed, "molesting her...all these years." He swallowed, he had always feared this moment. He hadn't been molesting her...he never forced her to do anything! No, his mother was wrong.  
"It's always been a victimless crime," Peter replied, "The first time we kissed she was 18 in Narnia. And when we came back, we never touched that way again until she was an adult."  
"Narnia!" Helen spat, "That's where this all started, isn't it? In that imaginary land in your head. I knew you were sick. Lucy and Edmund tried to convince me you weren't, but I know you are," she grabbed his jacket, throwing it at him, "Is this why Lucy is how she is? Did you abuse her too?"  
How dare she...ever accuse him of doing anything so heinous! He hadn't abused either of them! He'd never even hit Lucy before- even when they were children, he'd never laid a finger on her that could be harmful to her. He want to hit her, it was the first time in his life that he felt the overwhelming urge to hit a woman, and he moved forward with the intention of doing so. Or at least he would have, if it hadn't been for Susan.

Susan had to fling herself in front of her mother as Peter approached, looking fit to do something truly mad.  
"I've never hurt Lucy," he bellowed, "I've never hurt any of them! But never, ever Lucy." He looked at Susan, "Tell her!"  
Susan was silent for a moment, biting her lip as she considered her choices until she heard his broken voice.  
"Susan...Please. Tell her the truth!" he pleaded. How could she stand there and say nothing?! She had to know...she had to that he had ever only touched her with loving hands.

"Mother, he's not lying," she said, "He's never hurt Lucy or me. He never touched me until I was 18...and then, I was the one who started it." Helen stared at her daughter, pulling her away from Peter once more. He wanted to grab her, hold her to his chest, scream at their mother to get the fuck out and never come back; but he was rooted in place.  
"You're saying that because you're afraid," she said, dragging her to the door, "Go get in the car. Now." Susan gave Peter a tearful glance before running out the door and to the car. He watched her go, turning slowly to face Helen.  
The only people who remained were him and his mother, staring each other down.


	5. Chapter 5

"What are you going to do, Mother," he asked, "Disown me? Maybe you'll beat me. Stop paying for my education?" He stared at her evenly, "Or maybe you'll call that doctor that you have wrapped around your finger and have me forcibly admitted?" He knew what was running through her head. Ever since she had decided that he was sick, any time he talked of Narnia or their adventures she slapped him. She told him to stop making Lucy think that it was real, to stop pushing Susan to admit that she had been part of something that never happened. And when he was too big for her to slap anymore without fearing he may slap her back, she controlled him in other ways; with threats to his place in the family, to his education. Threats to have him locked up.

"I'm considering it," she replied. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Why? Why him, why did she have to hate him so much? He didn't wish it on the others, he just didn't understand why he was the one who was punished the most for this.

"Why do you hate me?" he asked, looking at her with pain in his eyes, "What did I do to make you hate me?"  
"You abused your sister!" she yelled, "You made Lucy mad with these Narnia tales, you- you changed. You stopped being my son when you came back from that summer trip to the country."  
"It was the summer that we went to Narnia the first time," he said, looking at her, "Why won't you believe me? Why won't you believe Lucy?"  
"What am I supposed to believe? You fell through a wardrobe into a magic land? Can't you understand how mad that is?" She began to cry, her voice raising in pitch, "Why couldn't you just stop?" Why couldn't he? Because it was real. Because Lucy needed someone to side with her. Because...he wouldn't turn his back on the best father he'd ever known.  
He moved forward, inches away from her.  
"What's wrong, Mother?" he sneered, "Angry that you and Dad couldn't slap the crazy out of me?" She looked completely scared out of her mind.  
"Get back," she whispered.  
"Why?" he demanded, "I'm not a monster! I'm just a person. Don't think you can stand there and judge me; you helped make us all the way we are. If you have to blame me so you can stand your own reflection, so be it. But you can't lie to them." He pointed towards her car, "You can't lie to Susan. You can try, but good fucking luck."  
"You are sick," she said, her voice shaking, "You need help. More help." Peter let out a mad laugh, tearing his jumper off and showing her exactly how much her help was helping him. Let her think he was mad. But she would see.

"Look at me!" he yelled, "Look! Look at what those chemicals have done to me- look at what you and your help have done!" She stared at his emaciated form, biting her lip. She could count his ribs, the crook of his arm riddled with little bruises. His eyes had a deep, sunken look to them- it was unnerving her.  
He touched the little bruises gently.  
"They have to take blood weekly to check if my medication is too high or too low," he said quietly, "Sometimes the nurses aren't all that gentle," his hands wandered over to his chest, running his hands over his ribs, "I can't eat. I'm never hungry; and when I try to force myself...I just feel sick. Mum... why can't you see what this is doing?" he asked, his eyes filled with tears as he stepped closer, "I'm not mad. Mummy..please," he begged, reaching out to touch her, "I'm not mad."  
Helen stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened as she wrenched the door open, taking the stairs two at a time away from him. He watched her run from him, some place inside him shattering into a million pieces. His own mother had run from him...in fear.  
"God have mercy on you," she yelled, slamming her door shut. Peter fisted his hair, flying down the stairs and chasing the car as it drove away, screaming, "God doesn't want me anymore! He's banished me from Narnia!"


	6. Chapter 6

They found him two nights later, laying in the middle of the park. He was delirious and feverish; they couldn't find his shirt or his coat or and identification. The officers tried to rouse him, but he couldn't walk; he was too weak. The younger hot-shot officer figured the kid was a user, "Just look at those needle marks." The other two argued that the remainder of the boy's clothes were too nice, he was too clean. But none of them could help but look at the way his body laid; like a crumpled heap of limbs and psychological deterioration.

One of the officers, a big man, carried the poor boy to the car; and when the boy woke up a bit, he whispered, "You're okay, son."  
The boy whispered, "I'm sorry for being such a bad son," his hands clinging to his shirt, tears staining the front of his shirt. The doctors told him there was nothing else that the officers could do other than try to discover the identity of the boy. He didn't want to leave, but he couldn't look at the kid another second.  
He never told anyone about what the poor, emaciated boy in the park whispered in his ear. He only went home and held his own sons close and told them how much he loved them.

The nurses were all enamoured with the sweet, sickly boy in room 345, the one who cried and thrashed and talked to people who weren't there; the one who was always saying he was a high king. He'd named the nurses in his delirium, and his favorites were the two he named Edmund and Lucy, always thanking them and telling them how much he loved them. They had all come to fondly call him "High King John Doe", using this nickname to coax him into eating.

"Come on, High King," Nurse Emily said, "Just a bit, sweetheart. Just a little bite for me."  
"I don't want any, Lucy," he sobbed, his eyes fluttering shut, "I don't want any food. They're trying to poison me, Lu. Don't let them poison me any more." He reached out, grabbing her wrist and staring at her with wide, innocent eyes, "Please, I hurt inside."

Nurse Emily was moved to another floor for the rest of her shift when she couldn't stop sobbing for the boy in 345.

It wasn't until Lucy happened to be watching the news one night that Susan found out. Lucy had called her, screaming and crying that Peter was on the news and in the picture he looked dead, "Susan, He looks dead, can't you help him? Mother turned off the news and didn't say a word, what on earth has gotten into her?"  
Susan didn't answer that question; calmed her down and told her she'd help Peter in any way she could. She called the police station, inquiring about the man on the news, stating she'd be down at the hospital the next day to identify him.

The officer who carried him slept for the first night in a week.


	7. Chapter 7

She was there in the morning, her hair perfectly done, her appearence impeccable to the naked eye. Only a practiced eye- specifically Peter's- could see the barely-there traces of tears, the way her coverup was caked particularly heavy under her eyes, the way her lower lip was just a shade darker than her upper lip due to how much she was biting her lip. She approached the desk, Peter's wallet and her own purse clutched in either hand.

Andrew was one of the few male nurses that were on the floor today. He'd been relegated to desk duty after checking in on the boy in 345, who was now lucid after nearly a week of delirium. Apparently his sister had called late last night and informed them of his psychiatric condition and all his medical information had somehow the doctor on duty had taken that and brought him out of it. He was a little sad; he felt bad for the boy but he had grown accustomed to being called Edmund and listening to all of his fears and troubles.  
He looked up at the young woman approaching, slapping a welcoming smile on his face.  
"How can I help you, Miss?" he asked. She seemed nervous; and to be honest most people who came up here had good reason to be nervous. He wondered who she was here for. He hoped it wasn't the old woman down the hall who had died that morning- he hated being the one who told people that their loved ones had passed; especially when working this floor. It was the floor where they put all the people who had been wandering around with no identification, no one looking for them and no one who cared until the police put their face on the news. When people came here to identify the patients, they had to face that they had neglected their responsibility as a family member, that they had failed someone that needed them.  
"My name is Susan, Susan Pevensie," she said quietly, holding out an identification card, "Is that man here? He's my brother."  
Andrew took the card from her hand, looking at it and raising an eyebrow. Peter, that was the boy's name from 345. He smiled to himself for a moment, he would have never guessed he was 23. But when her name rang in his ears, he felt himself give her a hostile look. So this is Susan, the one who hurt him, he thought.  
"Yes, that's him," he said, his voice cold and clipped. Susan nearly flinched, a moment ago he was all smiles and sweetness. She wonder what had caused the sudden change as he commanded her, "Follow me." He walked down the hall quickly, and she followed, her heels clicking against the hard floor. He left her at the door, pointing inside. She didn't understand, so she simply went in and didn't question it.  
A nurse was tending to him, a thermometer stuck in his mouth as she looked at the beeping machines.  
"All seems normal," she said with a grin on her face, leaning down to take the thermometer from his mouth. He said something to her that Susan couldn't understand, and she laughed, tousling his hair gently.  
"Thank you, Nurse Emily," he said as he went around him, straightening things up and moving things around.  
"I don't think I'll ever get used to you calling me by my name," she said with a laugh, "I was beginning to believe my name really was Lucy!" He blushed, mumbling an apology that he must have given a thousand times, because she only laughed and said, "You must love your little sister very much. " She looked up and saw Susan, nearly jumping out of her skin.  
"Oh I am so sorry. Are you Lucy?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.  
"No..." she replied, biting her lip, "I'm...Susan." The girl's smile disappeared, and she looked at Peter.  
"Will you be alright?" she asked softly.  
"I'll be fine," he reassured her. She turned to go, walking past Susan without looking at her. She looked at the retreating nurse's back, and then back to him.  
"Why do they do that?" she asked, "As soon as they find out my name, they look as if I've stepped on their foot." Peter looked at his hands guiltily.  
"When I was hallucinating, I may have said a bit more than I would at any other time," he said quietly, "I never spoke ill of you- they told me that much." She was taken aback- he could have said a great deal of mean things about her and they all probably would've been true.  
"I..." she began, before snapping her mouth shut. She opened it again, trying to articulate, "I'm so sorry Peter. I never...thought this would happen."  
"Who would?" he said bitterly, looking away and out the window, "Who would imagine that something so beautiful would spread like a disease and kill everything around you?" She almost burst into tears then and there. She reached out, taking his hand.  
"Everything will be okay," she said, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, "I met someone who could help."  
He groaned, tearing his hand from hers. He pressed the heels of his palms to his temples, looking fit to cry.  
"No more help," he moaned, "I don't want anymore help!" Nurse Emily was in the room a moment later, checking all his vitals and all but snarling at Susan.  
"You cannot upset him like that!" she scolded, "He has only been stable for about 8 hours! Can't you argue with him when he's better?"  
"Nurse Emily, it was my fault," he said, touching her arm, "I got worked up over something silly. I'm fine, Susan didn't do anything." She shot another glare at Susan before scurrying out. She calmly sat back down, looking at Peter pleadingly.  
"Please," she begged, "He's a good doctor- he's been my doctor for a few months. I really think he can help you Peter. Just...can't you meet him?"  
Peter felt his eyes grow heavy as Susan slid in and out of his vision; Nurse Emily had given him a sedative when she came in last.  
"I'll...yes," he slurred, his head rolling to the side as he fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_(( AN- I understand that Michaiel's brogue is a bit hard to understand and read- but you're sort of meant to be as confused as Peter is. His accent is that thick. I recommend pronouncing phonetically in your head. Also- it was pointed out to me that I had made a mistake with the holidays in chapter two. They've been corrected- thank you to TheFluffiestUnicorn.))_

When Peter's eyes shifted open, he saw a man's face over his with a light shining in his eyes. He groaned, blinking hard; and the man spoke.  
"Guid mornin!" the man said loudly, a wide grin on his face, "Ah ne'er thooght yoo'd wake up! Abit time," he commented, looking over his charts, "Nurse Emily takes 'er job serioosly, sweit lassie. She's sweit oan ye ."  
His scottish brogue was so thick it was hard to understand him. He stared at him, looking him over closely. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought that this doctor was his brother, or his real father. He had sandy blond hair and bright, keen blue eyes. Stubble dusted his jaw and lip, and Peter couldn't help but noticed that he smelled like leather and black pepper; and it was oddly comforting.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to get the haze out of his head.  
"Mah nam is Michaiel Leómhann. Aam yer doctur noo," he replied, "Yer sister Susan speart me tae tak' ye oan. Noo haud yer weesht." He looked uninterested in answering any of Peter's questions, but he just...couldn't understand the last part. Peter stared at him, completely confused.  
"What?" he asked. Michaiel shook his head.  
"Um. Ah meant, "Shoot Ahp. Er, be quoo-it." He frowned, having a difficult time expressing what he meant, and simply pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him. Peter may have been a bit dense but he definitely knew what that mean- and he obliged the doctor. Michaiel sat in a chair oposite of his bedside, pouring over several folders. They didn't speak, and Peter was baffled by the fact that this man was apparently his new doctor; but he had nothing to say. No questions, no pills. He kinda liked him.

They both looked at the door as a loud altercation took place in the hall. Michaiel looked over at Peter, a look of amusement on his face as they heard a man yell, "What do you MEAN you've taken him off the medication! I AM HIS DOCTOR and HE NEEDS ON THE MEDICATION!"

"Looks loch Merrit is haur. Seems a bit radge, doesnae he?" he chuckled, rising from his seat. Peter looked at this man in awe as his former doctor blew into the room, his rage thick and opressive. Was he really going to defend him from Merrit? They'd barely even known each other an hour.  
"Who do you think you are, you bloody quack!" Merrit yelled, shoving his finger in Michaiel's face. Michaiel didn't even flinch, completely relaxed.  
"Ah hink aam haur tae replace ye. aw those years ay schoolin' an' ye cannae e'en pick up oan 'at?" he smirked, shaking his head. Merrit look fit to burst, pushing Michaiel hard as he continued to yell.  
"You think you can handle this case but you can't. The boy is mad, and all your experimental therepies won't help him. He needs locked up. Did you even read his file? He was sexually abusing his sisters."

Peter almost screamed, but not before Michaiel reacted. He grabbed Merrit by the front of his shirt, slamming him into the wall.

"Listen tae me closely," he said, his voice full of venom, "Peter is mah responsibility noo. Ye can lae noo, ur ye can lit me gie ye a proper erse kickin' an' 'en ye can lae. Yer choice," he said, letting go of Merrit's collar, "Ye spook. Peddle yer chemicals elsewhere- aam haur tae dae what's reit fur heem, nae what's guid fur mah pooch." Merrit stumbled away, letting out a stream of obscenities as he went. Michaiel turned back to Peter, a grin on his face. He stared at his new doctor in awe and respect; glad that he had let Susan talk him into meeting him. He had not only defended him; he threatened to kick his ass and called him out on stuffing his patients full of chemicals. He was a little confused on what kind of doctor Michaiel was, but there was no doubt in his mind- he was one of the good guys.

"Buck 'at twat, deserved a proper thrashin'...Ah'm only sorry Ah cooldnae gie heem th' medicine he needs. by th' way, ye can caa me Micke," he said, "Noo let's gie ye discharged an' haem, eh?" Peter looked at his hands, a bit upset.  
"I don't have a home," he replied, "I lived with a few flatmates- but my mother burnt that bridge for me...or they think I'm dead or disappeaered." He began pulling at all the wires and tubes attached to him, wincing as he yanked out the IV in his hand. Micke came over, reaching out and stilling his hands.  
"Peter, dornt be a bampot," he said seriously, "Wa dae ye hate hospitals sae much?" Peter looked away, biting his lip. It was Micke's first question, the first question of billions.  
"I hate hospitals because sick people are in hospitals," he mumbled, "I'm not sick. I'm not mad and I'm not sick."  
"But ye waur," he replied.  
"I'm not anymore!" he shot back, "I'm fine now. I was sick and I spent a night in the freezing rain and..." Micke shook his head, reaching out and patting his leg over the sheet.  
"Weel, ye ur reit. ye arenae sick anymair. at leest nae physically," he responded, "Noo we need tae wark oan yer heed."  
"So you do think I'm mad?" Peter asked, twisting the sheets in his hands.  
"Nae. ye arenae crazy. Ye jist need tae learn hoo tae keep yer days in Narnia tae yerself."

Peter stared at Micke, a simultaneous feeling of joy and dread filling him. "How do you know that Narnia is real?"  
Micke just gave him a smile with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.


End file.
